


Flowers of Flesh & Blood

by amyponders



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Blood, Blood and Violence, Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Character Death, Character Study, Dark, Death, During Canon, F/M, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, I Blame Tumblr, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, Implied Sexual Content, Loss of Virginity, Murder, Non-Consensual, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Nuns, Psychological Trauma, Raiding, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader-Insert, Serial Rapist, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Sexual Violence, Short, Songfic, Trauma, Triggers, Vikings, Violence, Virginity, Why Did I Write This?, dark!Hvitserk, nicole dollanganger - Freeform, originally a one shot, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:28:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23856130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyponders/pseuds/amyponders
Summary: He had his sweetheart patiently waiting for him back home, as she always did whenever he went away, but he would never imagine doing to her the unspeakable things he did to these girls. And Hvitserk couldn’t even bring himself to fantasize about doing to his beloved what he did when he was away from her. But whenever he had one of these pretty little helpless things in front of him, he couldn’t curb the dark hunger that began deep in the bottomless pit of his loins, and he just had to possess them.
Relationships: Hvitserk (Vikings)/Original Character(s), Hvitserk (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s), Hvitserk (Vikings)/Reader, Hvitserk (Vikings)/You
Comments: 9
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rape/non-con elements feature heavily in this fic. I don't mean to upset/trigger anyone so please DO NOT read if you know this will make you uncomfortable. 
> 
> This is based on those snippets from the show (in York and in Spain) where they imply that Hvitserk engages in rape while he's raiding. I've always been enticed by the idea that he is quite a dark character, built almost entirely in small moments like this, which can be pretty easy to miss (goddamn you screenwriters! He needs more screen time!). So I meant to do a small exploration of Hvitserk's psyche and his reasoning behind it. I found a song that fits more or less the same mood of the story and it's called Flowers of Flesh & Blood and you should check it out if you have some time.

[Nicole Dollanganger - Flowers of Flesh & Blood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MiTYBdTINgg)

Hvitserk got off the whimpering mess that she was and sat on the edge of the bed, turning his back on her and fixing his gaze on the dirty heap of his pants by the floor. Her sobs had diminished from the moment he had first set his calloused hands on her. 

She started their encounter shrieking and clawing at his face and forearms and ended it mewling like a newborn cat. They were all different but he had to admit he expected more of a fight from her. He had picked her precisely because of that. Tonight he wanted a true challenge but frankly, all she had been was quite pathetic in her efforts.

Hvitserk exhaled, visibly exasperated at her endless wailing, and glanced to the side, looking at no one in particular: “Oh, would you quit crying already? It is done.” 

He got up and looked around the room for a piece of cloth to clean himself. He had fluids - spit, sweat, seed, and blood - all over his face, arms, stomach, and thighs. The blood surprised him as he had heard of these mythical women who consecrated their maidenheads to their god, swearing off sex forever, but he never actually thought he would encounter one. 

And now that he’d had the pleasure of enjoying one, he felt gratified, somehow more deserving of his own Viking pride as he delighted in the fact that he’d lain with one of them. Not many men could say the same.

“I took my fill from you. You should clean yourself and go.” He threw her the same rag he used to wipe himself and observed her lying in bed. 

She was covering her face with her own hand in order to stifle her soft cries and her legs were blood-stained and quavering. 

Hvitserk sighed and rolled his eyes. “Did you hear me, woman? You are free. You can go.” 

He knew he should probably grab his knife, slit her throat, and put her out of her misery, but he did not feel like killing anymore, not tonight. If he did, he would have to clean up the bed, drag her away, and get rid of the body and the only thing he wanted to do as of now was to be left alone to nod off for a while.

“W-why?” A small shaky voice reached his ears.

“What?” He truly was not sure if he had heard her talk or if he was imagining things. “Why what?”

When she did not answer, he took to replying anyway. “You were just _there_. All ripe for the taking. Practically begging for me to take you. I could not resist.” 

Hvitserk grinned gleefully, thinking about how much he loved to feel them fight back and resist. They were his favorite part of any raid, the women he got to ravage with his mouth, with his fingers, and with his body. He could hear their vulnerable cries for days after and it thrilled him to know that he had been the one stirring up their fury. 

Hvitserk received their wounds and lacerations willingly and wore them just as proudly as his battle scars. Sometimes he even toned down the strength of his arms, letting them overpower him briefly, thinking they had a way out before he dominated them completely. Owning them was an exhilarating feeling beyond description and all he knew was that he always came back for more.

He had his childhood sweetheart patiently waiting for him back home, as she always did whenever he went away, but he would never imagine doing to her the unspeakable things he did to these girls. She was good, pure, and true and she meant the world to him. In his mind, she was the perfect wife and mother; this demure, shy, innocent girl who had come straight out of daddy’s lap and into his ensnaring grip. 

And Hvitserk could not even bring himself to fantasize about doing to his beloved what he did when he was away from her. But whenever he had one of these pretty little helpless things in front of him, he could not curb the dark hunger that began deep in the bottomless pit of his loins, and he just had to possess them.

“It was not that bad, was it? For your first time?” Hvitserk chuckled lowly, clearly unbothered by his own insensitivity. 

He had been in this position enough times that it became harder and harder to comprehend why they always acted so stiff every time, as if laying with a son of Ragnar was not reason enough to be elated. Sure, his way of handling them was coarse, and they ought to act insulted for a moment because that was what they had been taught by their prudish fathers - rigid old men who liked to pretend they had not forcefully taken their fair share of maidens when they were young.

But Hvitserk also suspected that deep down the women enjoyed it too, even if they were too proud to vocalize it. He noticed how the hair on their skins rose, and their throats produced whimpering moans and their knees trembled uncontrollably. They just had to be feeling something, right? Who would not relish a little rough excitement every now and then? It would not make sense otherwise.

He plopped down on the bed and she recoiled at his sudden nearness. “Well, for your first time, you were not so bad yourself.” He gazed at her almost lifeless limbs, her white garments stained, wrinkled, and torn beyond repair. 

“I thought this was supposed to be the love all you priggish girls hope to find. Rough… foreign... a little scary?” He questioned her and smirked genuinely.

In a sudden blur, he saw her sit up and throw herself at him. The next thing he was aware of was the stinging tip of a knife entering his chest. He looked down and found that there was a thin line of blood trickling down from the superficial wound she made. She had good aim but not enough strength to completely pierce through his breastbone; and so Hvitserk grabbed the knife, flipping it in his hands as he sighed, aggravated.

“You missed.” He grunted, thrusting his knife forward, and perforating her heart through her sternum in one swift motion. “But I did not.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hvitserk reckons with the consequences of his actions when you, his wife, find out what he's done.

As soon as he stepped off the boat, Hvitserk ran down the expanse of the pier meaning to avoid the searching arm of his mother. 

He failed. 

But the second he managed to get away from her, he ran to the fields, knowing very well he would find you, his darling wife, over there picking flowers and humming lightly to yourself. He slipped an arm over your arms from behind and gave you a kiss on the back of the head, nearly scaring you to death in the process. 

His chuckles got entangled with your happy little yelps. At long last, his mouth had found his way back to yours and he devoured you hungrily. After spending the coldest winter nights alone without your man there to warm your bed and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, he was back and you could not imagine better days than the ones that laid ahead of you.

You walked back together arm in arm in the chilly night and sat near the campfire where all the raiders were recounting tales of their pillaging. 

“Tell them! Tell them of that monstrous chest of gold you found in the church! And yet, I bet nothing tasted as sweet as that holy woman’s honeycomb.” Harald threw his arms around Hvitserk’s neck forcefully and the color drained from his face. “Or are you going to deny it now?” Harald inquired.

“He cannot!” Yelled Bjørn. “I saw it when he grabbed her, the fierce little thing.” 

And Harald, seeing the expression on your husband’s face still gave him no quarter. “Do not grow timid now just because your wife is near. You are still the man of your house, are you not? You have to admit that the maiden girl was a far better prize than gold and silver.” 

“A girl? Who was she?” 

You were wounded and astonished, but most of all impressed at their complete disregard for you. You had never felt so humiliated in all your years. It was as if you did not matter in the slightest; just a heap of pelts and jewels and perfume wrapped around a powerless disposable body. Perhaps they thought that because you were clothed in the spoils of their numerous raids, you had no right to complain about their actions.

“Some broodmare.” Bjørn replied and took a sip from his curved horn. 

“I was not talking to you, you witless drunk.” You snapped and he raised an eyebrow. 

Never in all the years you had known Bjørn had you dared raise your voice at him. You had more common sense than that. But you were past the point of caring. In any other moment, you were sure you would have been dragged out of there by your hair and into a burning pyre, Hvitserk’s wife or not. 

But Bjørn’s drunkenness worked in your favor and he merely stared at you amused, an infuriating glint in his eyes, as if the abrupt knowledge you had of your husband’s exploits away from your bed were punishment enough. He knew how much you loved his brother. Everyone knew. And here you were, being publicly shamed. 

“Where is she? Did you bring her back with you?” Your voice trembled.

“She does not matter. Just some... girl I enjoyed.” Hvitserk tried to reassure you but turned red from his nose to his ears.

“Time and time again, eh? I heard the noises you were making.” Harald felt the need to add.

“I think my brother’s woman might have actually liked it... But then again, so did mine. She barely made a noise. So tough in the beginning yet so noiseless in the end.”

“That, my dear Bjørn, is how you know you have broken the mare.” Harald joked and Bjorn’s booming laugh filled the air.

As you heard them talking, something finally clicked inside your mind and you felt sick to your stomach. But it could not be true! Hvitserk would never do something like that.

“Let us change the subject.” Hvitserk took one look at you and pleaded at them.

“Do not be so shy now. You should be sharing what you did with the rest of us instead. I find it infuriating when they will not stop fighting after a while. What is your secret, eh, pretty boy?”

“Nothing.” Hvitserk replied hermetically. 

“I find that hard to believe.”

“We could always ask her next time we stop by York. Right, Bjørn?” Harald elbowed the oldest Ragnarsson and they cackled loudly but all you could hear was a shrill piercing noise.

“She is dead now. So it does not matter.” You heard your husband’s words as if from the other side of a long tunnel.

“D-dead?!” You interjected.

“Well, I had to kill her.” Hvitserk’s face contorted in pain when he saw you stand up abruptly. 

An invisible hand was grasping at your throat and you had to go searching for air.

“Y/N? Y/N!”

You kept walking in long strides trying to outwalk him even though you knew it was pointless.

“Y/N!”

“What?!”

“Please, wait. Let me explain!” He said in a hushed voice, perhaps hoping the men would not hear him making excuses to his wife.

“Explain what? How you ruined that poor girl? How you  _ murdered  _ her?”

“No, you do not understand!”

“What is there to understand?”

“She came at me!”

“Because you took her against her will, did you not? Answer me, you coward!” You shoved him back and saw him stagger.

“Y-yes. B-but this is our custom.” He argued feebly and tried to caress your arm.

“Stay away, you brute! You disgust me. Do you hear me? You make me sick.” The words were piercing him harder than any weapon could.

How could Hvitserk, your sweet kind Hvitserk - who had never been anything less than dependable, caring, and protective to you - had done something so low, so cruel and so despicable to someone? 

Sure, you knew he was away raiding, killing, and pillaging, not farming and building cottages — a path more suited to your do-gooder brother-in-law Ubbe. And you also knew your husband had a dark side… You had witnessed him wielding an ax and a sword; he was fearless in battle, one of the many reasons you had fallen for him. 

You had seen him punishing deserters, cutting off hands, limbs, and heads, offering sacrifices to the gods, opening backs, cracking ribs, and ripping out lungs. And yet, you never imagined he would harm a woman in that way. Least of all when he had you, his dutiful and devoted wife who would have sooner died than seen him spend a single second unhappy.

A tidal wave of violent emotions was drowning you and with the last shred of self-control you could muster you asked: “What if... someone... did to me what you did to that poor girl?”

“For harming my woman I would not leave a bone in his body unbroken.” Hvitserk snarled. “I would cut off his manhood and feed it to the dogs. Then, I would take my time ending his wretched life. And I assure you, I would savor every fucking second of it.” He spat out fervently, perhaps hoping his response would stir love in you, but you merely stared ahead vacantly.

“I guess someone should do the same to you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Look me up on Tumblr! deans-ch-ch-cherrypie.tumblr.com
> 
> In case you want to support me: https://ko-fi.com/amyponders


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